


C = L + H  (One Shot)

by AKMars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Non explicit slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKMars/pseuds/AKMars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I got to thinking about Reese's morning coffee runs, which led to baked goods, which led to my personal beliefs on the subject of baked goods and well, this mess just popped into my brain. For what it's worth, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	C = L + H  (One Shot)

Title: C = L + H  
Type: One-shot Stand Alone  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Non-explicit Slash and Silly Fluffy Stuff  
Pairing: Finch/Reese

 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

 

Joe, java, swampwater, sludge...black, with cream, sugar or both. For an item that didn't originate on the continent of North America, the drink had become synonymous with the United States. An irrefutable, inexorable part of the culture and history. Hot, strong, bitter as a defeated politician and yet still welcome almost anywhere. _Coffee_.

The kind of coffee that had fueled Americans through the harshness of the depression, infused them with strength during World War II yet had all but disappeared from the national menu somewhere in the seventies.

With the rise of Yupper-class cafes and boutiques, dispensing their double-macchi-vento-latte beverages; the simple, unadorned cup of American coffee had been sidelined, relegated to off-the-beaten-path diners and dives. Soccer moms, executives and blue collar workers lined up at the chrome and polished wood counters of the new bean dispensers to hand over six dollars or more for these fancy drinks.

The mom and pops establishments Reese bought his morning cup from would not be found in any tourist guide or win five stars from a restaurant critic....but they were the heart of many a neighborhood in all the boroughs. Places that had been in business almost as long as there had been a New York City. Warm, familiar kitchens where workers could get a hot breakfast and _honest_ coffee to fortify them for another day on the job.

He could and did take his pick of them on the backstreets; varying his morning routine and patronage so that his route would not fall into predictability. New York was the perfect city in which he could do so; his choice of venue being limited only to how far he wanted travel any given day. He frequented just one of them enough times to be considered a regular. Thanks to Finch’s predilection to eating there, it had become _their_ place.

So it was that this morning, the op found himself holding up a streetlamp opposite the corner of 84th St. and Northern Boulevard in Queens; waiting for a small bakery called 'Attie's BreadsnMore' to open its doors. Reese eyed the selection of round, dense crusted loaves in the front window with pleasure. He knew just by looking that this would be the kind of place that did everything from scratch and by hand as much as possible. 

_Zagat's would label it 'plain', 'simple', 'ordinary and unremarkable'....if they bothered listing it at all._ He smirked, a smugness filling his chest. _Their loss and more for me to enjoy._

 

John looked at his watch, sighing as he noted the time. 6:29 a.m. That last minute before a food establishment opened was always the longest. The op worked his neck farther down into the collar of his coat and shut his eyes. Fall had stolen over the city again giving the mornings enough of a nip to make him think about wearing a warmer shirt.

“Hey Mack! You waitin’ on me?” 

John started out of his reverie to see a rotund face poking out the half-opened bakery door. He smiled, nodding at the query. The man's chin jerked towards the shop.

"Well, come on in...we're open!"

Reese crossed the street and stepped into the bakery, the tinkling of an old-fashioned bell announcing his arrival. At once, the op was surrounded by the kind of homey warmth that was created by ovens. A combination of heat, the smells of yeast, honey and salt that all spoke of safety and comfort. He felt himself relax a fraction.

"Look around, I'll be back up in a minute!" The gruff, bass voice floated out to the shop floor from an open doorway.

John did as instructed, taking in the spotlessly clean glass cases that lined the wall opposite the door and protected the entrance to the kitchens. Rows of pastries stood at attention...donuts of all types, bearclaws, turnovers and danishes. Wire racks held plastic bags of croissants, soft pretzel sticks and various rolls. 

The op paused, turning towards the back counter again. _There_....almost buried in the alluring scents of the baked goods came the faint, tantalizing aroma of coffee. _Real coffee_.

The face who had called to Reese materialized from the bakery kitchen, a metal tray held in his beefy hands.

John smirked as he took in the man’s appearance. It was if the Pillsbury Doughboy had come to life. The baker stood five nine or so with a gut to put Lionel’s to shame contained in a white t-shirt and chef’s apron. His face was good-natured, a smile breaking through the heavy five-o’clock shadow covering his cheeks and chin. A thick crown of black hair topped the round head and eyes the color of bittersweet chocolate took in every detail of his customer’s appearance. He placed the tray of cream puffs on a side table and cocked his head at Reese.

“Haven’t seen you in before, Mack....what’ll you have?”

“Coffee for sure and then some donuts to go, I think.” Reese smiled back and looked around the shop. “So where’s the proprietress?”

“You’re lookin’ at him.”

“ _You’re_ Attie?”

“Attila Vass, master baker at your service.” The heavy brows pulled together, the shop owner’s smile diminishing a touch. “You got a problem with that?”

Reese held up his hands placatingly. “Not at all, I just assumed...”

The baker shrugged, pouring a cup of coffee for his customer. “Yeah well, no offense taken. It makes for better advertising the way it is. Attila doesn’t lend itself to thoughts of bread and cake now does it?”

"Maybe if you attack someone with a baguette."

The older man guffawed at Reese's sally. "True enough...so you decide yet or you wanna look a bit?"

"What do you recommend?" John took a sip of his coffee and his eyes opened wide. The opaque brown liquid slipped over his taste buds and down his throat like velvet; its flavor rich and mellow, without a trace of bitterness.

"Wow....now that's coffee!"

The baker laughed again, pouring a mug for himself. "Yeah, I do pretty good with it if I say so myself.” He pushed his bulk from behind the counter and faced his customer. 

“You lookin’ for a quick, fast sugar-carb hit or something that you can savor?”

Reese frowned. He’d never really considered the pleasurable aspect of breakfast pastry before. If it was sweet and halfway fresh, the op would eat it. He _always_ bought as fresh as possible now that he was feeding Finch too. But savoring his breakfast? It was almost a foreign concept.

“Haven’t given it much thought, I suppose.”

Attie grunted in amused disdain. “Then you’re in luck Mack ‘cause I’m going to lay one of the greatest, yet most little known secrets of the universe on you.” 

He looked around to make sure they were alone before motioning the op closer. When Reese stepped in, the baker whispered “Cupcakes equal love and happiness.”

The op was actually startled into laughter by Vass' pronouncement. “You’re kidding, right?” 

The rotund man shook his head pityingly at his customer. “See, this is why ninety-nine percent of the world’s population _aren’t_ bakers. You don’t take this fact seriously. Lemme show you....”

Attie bent down and removed a single, perfect cupcake from the case in front of him. Reese had to admit it was a work of art. The cake was moist and fresh; he could smell the rich scent of chocolate wafting towards him from where it sat on the counter. Mounds of thick, white buttercream frosting formed a perfect swirled peak on its top. 

The ex-agent found himself salivating at the thought of consuming it. The rich, dense cake and homemade frosting would balance the hot bite of his drink. The coffee's flavor would enhance yet tame the dessert's intensity just enough. Seeing that he had the taller man's attention, the baker spread his hands on either side of the confection.

“Cupcakes equal love and happiness. Ergo, if someone gives you a cupcake they’re saying they love you and they want you to be happy. Any baker worth his salt knows this.” The older man grunted again, his belly bouncing with the vocalization.

“World peace could have been achieved decades if not _centuries_ ago if bakers had been in charge. You can’t hate someone who gives you a cupcake....it’s a physical impossibility.”

Attila shook his finger at John. "I'd wager my shop that Nixon hadn't been given a cupcake since he was six...and look how that mess turned out." His gaze turned speculative. 

"George Sr. may have been no great shakes as president but if nothing else I bet he had Barbara whip up a baker's dozen of these babies and sent 'em to Gorbechev. Next thing you know? Pow! Wall comes down.”

Reese absorbed this philosophy for a minute. If someone with ‘Tricky Dick‘s‘ level of paranoia could have been mellowed by receiving a small, baked item then it ought to put at least a dent in Finch‘s prickliness. His smile disappeared his thoughts turned serious. “Not everyone buys into that though, do they?”

Vass sighed. “There will always be bad people in the world, Mack. People who’s only pleasure is the pain they cause others. Look,” 

He stepped out from behind the counter, catching John’s elbow and walked him over to look out the front window. There were only a few people out and about on the street but John took the time to watch them. Contrary to foot traffic at the peak of 'rush hour', these passersby made eye contact with one another; some even nodding as they went their separate ways.

“I’m not saying that cupcakes can turn the world into a perfect utopia but most people, given the chance, will act decent to one another. The bad ones, _really evil_ ones I mean are gonna cause chaos anyway. Those we do need protection from. That‘s what armies are for.” 

The baker patted Reese’s arm, looking up at the op with warmth in his brown eyes. “So the ones who do that protecting, I appreciate. You were military, _good military_. It hangs on you like a well-made suit. You can’t shake it.“

The baker indicated the counter in front of them. “So have a cupcake my friend....let me say thanks. What’cha like?”

Reese’s eyes were drawn again to the vanilla frosted chocolate offering resting on the counter. Attila laughed, putting the displayed treat away and placing a fresh one inside a pale yellow pasteboard box. 

"And what else? You said donuts right?" The baker eyed him again, a cocky grin crossing his face. 

"Or something more special....for a _friend_?"

The op stood looking at the bounty spread out before him.

"Is your friend allergic to chocolate?"

Reese thought back to all the mornings he'd brought in food...Finch had never chosen anything containing chocolate. That could indicate an allergy but knowing Finch it was more likely his silent opinion of poor quality ingredients. There was one type of pastry the recluse always went for when it was included the assortment.

"Lemon...my friend likes lemon."

Vass nodded. "Then I think this would work." He pulled a pale ivory cupcake from the case, it's frosting cap an almost perfect color match for the baked portion of the dessert. "I refuse to add food coloring to things just so idiots can guess what flavor something is." 

He sighed. "Except for the red velvet ones. I _hate_ making them but they sell so what'cha gonna do?" He pointed to the cupcake he’d just produced.

“Vanilla-lemon cake batter topped with a light cream cheese frosting. Perfect for coffee or tea, depending upon the receiver’s taste.”

Reese smiled, the warmth reaching his eyes, showing his pleasure at the older man’s choice. “I’ll take it plus another cup of coffee to go.”

“Done! I’ll get these ready to walk.”

The op settled up his bill and carefully gathered the paper box into his hand. He smiled again at the baker.

“Thank you Mr. Vass...it‘s been an interesting morning.” 

“Stop in again sometime, Mack...you’ll always be welcome.”

Reese started to say something more but just then the door’s bell chimed and a couple of construction workers strode in.

“Yo Attie!”

“’Morning fellas, you want the usual?”

John slipped un-noticed out of the shop and headed towards the library; cradling the small box as if it were the most precious of burdens. 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

Finch was up to his ears in his computers, literally. The op could just see the top of his spiky hair above the circle of monitors that surrounded the recluse’s workstation. Reese smirked. Seeing Harold in this position always reminded him of some ancient druid in the midst of Stonehenge...seeking wisdom from powers beyond the mortal plane.

“Good morning Harold.”

The smaller man spared his operative a quick glance and then returned his gaze to the screens in front of him. “Good morning, Mr. Reese.”

Agile fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the keyboards, a seemingly improvised accompaniment to the beeps and clicking noises the CPUs created as they processed Finch’s input.

“New number?”

“Not as yet. I’m catching up on some ‘housekeeping’ tasks, for lack of a better term.” Finch looked up again. “Am I to assume you brought donuts again?”

“Something like.”

The billionaire nodded, hit a few more keys, then laboriously got to his feet. He limped to the hotplate perched on the card catalog; opening one of the drawers to pull out a box of loose tea and a strainer.

While his employer was occupied, Reese stealthily placed his unorthodox breakfast choice in front of Harold’s keyboard then stepped back to wait.

“May I ask where you’ve been? Even without a number you seem to favor six thirty as an arrival time.”

Reese popped the lid on his coffee and took a sip, once again appreciating Mr. Vass’ brewing skills.

“Expanding my understanding of international socio-political theories....in addition to getting breakfast.”

Finch made an amused sound as he poured boiling water over the strainer. “I’m glad to know that you’re broadening your knowledge base, Mr. Reese. Did you have a particular instructor for your exercise or were you merely observing nefarious behavior of some kind?”

Reese chuckled in reply. “Actually, I met a very wise man who although he’s never run for office or held a diplomatic post, made a lot of sense.”

Finch counted to himself as his green tea steeped, his attention still fixed firmly on the other man’s words. “I see. And where may I ask, does this paragon of knowledge reside? Brooklyn?”

“Queens in fact.” Reese held his breath as Harold set the strainer aside; taking an experimental sip of his beverage. Satisfied, the recluse returned to his station only to stop short and stare at the confection in front of him.

Finch looked from the cupcake to Reese and back again. He set his mug down next to the keyboard and picked up the small pastry. John could smell the tangy, teasing scent of the lemon-flavored cake from where he stood. 

“That was very thoughtful of you, Mr. Reese.” The pale eyes were a touch softer when they met the op’s again. “No-one has given me a cupcake in a very long time.”

Reese almost felt embarrassed at Finch‘s reception of the treat. “It’s nothing really, I just thought you’d like it.”

“I disagree and I do...very much.”

Harold put the cupcake back down on the table, his index finger digging into the frosting as he did so. Finch closed the distance between himself and his op and smeared the pale frosting across the taller man's lips.

"Harold, wha-"

John's comment was interrupted by Finch's other hand wrapping around the back of his neck; pulling Reese's face down to his own. The recluse's mouth covered his, smearing the rich buttercream as Harold's tongue explored his lips.

John opened up his mouth, wrapping his arms around Finch's back; savoring the commingled taste of sugary cheese and green tea as their kiss grew more involved. Harold’s mouth was gentle on his own, thoughtful almost....as if he were experimenting to see how he and Reese would suit each other.

When at last the billionaire released him, the op was short of breath. He stood staring down at his boss, his brain refusing to think rationally.

Finch smiled and wiped a remaining smudge of frosting off John's cheek with his thumb. He licked his finger clean before stepping back into the ex-agent's embrace. Harold buried his nose in John’s hair, inhaling deeply and whispering in his ear.

“Cupcakes equal love and happiness, Mr. Reese. _Everyone_ knows that.” 

**poipoipoipoipoipoipoipoipoi**

　

Hope you enjoyed this fluffy little confection.


End file.
